


A Blood Born Hell

by ADRNTESPDR



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Battle, Cooperation, Gen, The Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 19:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5940979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADRNTESPDR/pseuds/ADRNTESPDR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night and the hunt are long. Hunters across different worlds face the same hardships while slaying beasts in the city of Yharnam. One such hunter, Edwyn, is downtrodden from a seemingly invincible foe. All he has left are his weapons and a rusty old bell. How can he overcome such a horrific adversary alone?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Blood Born Hell

“What would you say if I told you that hell is in the eye of the beholder—that every man has his own personal nightmare that preys on fears he never knew he had. I welcome you to my hell. It’s a vision of blood, death and immortality. It’s a place that rips me apart over and over again. I don’t fear death. I fear the horror of not being able to.  
Beyond the corpse-ridden sewers is a tomb. You can get there via an elevator if you wish, but I had to crawl through the filth of the sewers because someone locked it up. The crows and living dead were abominations I was glad to kill—it’s not the sewers I fear. It’s the tomb that houses my nightmare. A nightmare that takes the form of a man. A man named Gascoigne.”

  
“I came to Yharnam because of the romanticized glory of the hunt. The tales of hunters gracefully cutting down the terrible beasts made me crave the fame I thought such actions would entreat. There is nothing romantic or glorious about the hunt. It’s nothing more than a blood-soaked cycle of death and decay. I came upon Gascoigne shortly after I first arrived in Yharnam and received blood ministration. I was told nothing more than to hunt beasts and seek something called Paleblood. None of the bashful locals knew of it, but one pointed me toward someplace called The Healing Church if I sought a special kind of blood. The streets were filled with the stale stench of blood and rotten flesh. Men wandered around with torches and hatchets searching for beasts, which is what they mistook me for. I think they had been on the hunt too long—drunken with blood and violence. I suppose if I lived in this place I would fear the unfamiliar as well. It wasn’t the blows from their makeshift weapons that hurt me but the scathing accusations that it was I who was the beast. That this was my fault. Their words stuck in my mind.”

  
“I faced abominable creatures while trying to make my way to The Healing Church. I figured it would be the large cathedral that towered in the sky. I stumbled upon bloated crows with flesh and gore hanging from their beaks. I desperately avoided deformed hounds that saw me as a meal. I also had the misfortune of interrupting a rather large man from pounding on a gate with his brick. He seemed bothered by the interruption. I finally found myself at a bridge leading straight to the cathedral. There were crows and another large man in the way, but they were easy enough to avoid. I made my mad dash across the bridge when I faced the first true threat in Yharnam. It leapt over the wall and landed with a resounding crash. The impact shook the bridge to its foundation as I braced myself to face this terrible creature. It stood nearly thirty feet tall and stood as a monument to the beastly scourge. What had once been a man had been deformed into this beast with ashen fur and an incredibly large left arm. It screamed a terrible shriek that pierced my ears as it lumbered toward me with ill intent."

  
“But that’s not what this story is about. I slayed the beast with the help of some Molotov Cocktails I had found while journeying to the cathedral. To my dismay, the gates were blocked off or locked from the other side. I had to find another way through. I eventually found my way to the sewers of the once great city. I didn’t think the smells could get worse, but they certainly were down in Yharnam’s underbelly. What’s worse were the undead corpses that seemed to have been dumped down there. Their stench was so foul it was nearly enough to stun me. I emerged from the sewers and found the elevator that I mentioned earlier. It was then, after going back down the elevator that I stumbled upon the tomb. As I approached the archway leading into the graveyard I heard the sound of blade on flesh.”

“I entered to find a man with gray hair and an axe chopping at a commoner lying on the ground. He seemed to sense my presence. As he turned to face me he said,  
‘Beasts all over the shop. You’ll be one of them sooner or later.’”

“He turned to me as he said this and I noticed he was showing fangs in his mouth. This man had lost his mind to the hunt, just like the other commoners. However, this was no commoner. This, was Gascoigne. My first battle with him was humbling. He was reminiscent of the romantic tales of hunters that attracted me to the hunt. He slid around me as if floating on air and the blows from his axe were swift and brutal. The final blow came when he dragged his axe upon the ground and smashed its blade into my jaw. I flew through the air, crashing through some tombstones before landing in the dirt. The pain was excruciating. Blood poured from my jaw and gurgled in my nose and mouth as I struggled to breathe. Agony swept through my back from my shattered spine. Gascoigne looked down at me in disgust as my vision darkened, and I suffered my first death. This is how my hell began.”

“You’re aware of the Hunter’s Dream. That beautiful place with the comforting doll—always hoping we’ll find our worth in the waking world. The blood ministration saved me from death, but if I wanted to return to the land of the living, I had to keep hunting. I had to make it to The Healing Church and find Paleblood. I had to defeat Gascoigne. Getting back to the tomb was the easy part now that I knew of the elevator. Unfortunately, all the beastly creatures I had previously cut down had somehow been resurrected. The second time I reached Gascoigne, he was waiting for me. It seems he knew I would return. I waited for him to make the first move, as taking the first swing was my downfall last time. I slid around him as his axe fell where I stood, and I struck him in the back twice with my cleaver. This had little effect as he swiftly swung his axe as he spun around to face me—striking me in the chest and sending me rolling across the ground. As I stood, he leapt through the air with his axe raised high. I rolled out of the way just as the axe stuck in the dirt where I had been standing. I dug out a blood vial from my pack and quickly poured it into my wounds. Gascoigne was soon upon me again. This went on for what felt like hours. Gascoigne and I striking and avoiding each other. It would have felt like a graceful dance if he hadn’t been snarling like a mad man the entire time. Eventually he tired of my persistence. He placed his shotgun on his back and both hands on his axe. With one smooth motion he extended it—the scraping of metal sent sparks fluttering in the dimly lit graveyard. I extended my cleaver, and we continued our dance. It wasn’t until he was bloodied and near death that I began to have hope in killing the lunatic. He dropped his axe and gripped his head screaming as if in terrible pain. I ran towards him to finish the job but by the time I reached him, a blast of fur and muscle sent me backwards. He had turned into what had been hiding within him all along. He had given in to the hunt.”

“I didn’t last long after that. He came at me with more speed and strength than I had ever faced before. His claws ripped away my chest and face. A traumatizing death to a horrifying beast. I’ve tried to defeat him countless times since. He’s defeated me every time. This is my nightmare. Running back time and time again, only to have that accursed axe tear through my flesh and those claws drain my blood. I thought I would get used to the pain, but I haven’t. I couldn’t take it anymore. I can’t do it. I just can’t. I should have never run this worthless bell.”

The downtrodden hunter known as Edwyn held an old, rusted bell in his hand as he sobbed these last few words. It was worn from the use of many hunters before him. He threw it across the ground and it scraped along the brick before stopping at a railing overlooking the setting sun on the horizon. Two hunters stood around the Central Yharnam lamp. They had listened intently—recalling their own experiences in the hunt. Their own battles with Gascoigne. The horrifying realization that Gascoigne would never truly die, and that he would plague new hunters until the Paleblood was found and the hunt transcended.  
Edwyn looked at the hunters with his bloodshot eyes:

“Were the men I slaughtered in the streets right? Am I no more a man than Gascoigne? Is it a matter of time before the beast within me comes to the surface? What’s the point of continuing in this useless bloodshed if I’m cursed to die a painful death or become the very thing I hunt? I shouldn’t have brought you here. We can’t beat him.”

Edwyn sat against the wall of the house Gilbert, who had been incessantly coughing throughout the story, was held up in. Other than his coughing Gilbert seemed to be listening to the story as well. Everyone could use a little entertainment these days. Edwyn’s cleaver lay next to him propped against the wall. He loosely gripped his pistol in his left hand. He had grown a paranoia that wouldn’t allow for being defenseless, even in an area as safe as this. The two hunters looked at each other knowing full well what had to be done. One of them, Clarice, wore a grey trench coat with engraved steel gauntlets. She wore no mask to shield her face from the spray of blood of the hunt. There were small bulbs dangling from various parts of her attire. They were filled with incense to help distract the beasts. The other hunter, Rocco, had been quiet. He’d listened to the story, but his crossed arms expressed boredom or irritation—it was hard to tell with the top hat that covered his eyes. He had a giant block sitting on his back and a silver sword in hand. He didn’t look like one to let his guard down. He didn’t have any incense. One could guess it was because he didn’t need it.

“You get him ready,” said Rocco to Clarice. “I’ll clear the way and meet you there.”

Clarice nodded and Rocco slammed his sword into the block on his back to make a hammer. He rested it on his shoulder and jogged through the gate and down the steps. Clarice stepped over to the railing and picked up the bell that had been tossed there. She brought it over to Edwyn and kneeled in front of him. She took his hand and placed the bell in it. The scream of someone meeting the business end of Rocco’s hammer echoed up from the gate.

“You’re a hunter now,” she said in a soft but stern voice. “Hunters don’t have the option to surrender to their fate. We’re cursed to fight it. Even in death. Grab your weapon and prepare yourself. We have the prey in our sights, but we can’t kill Gascoigne without you.”

Edwyn looked at the bell in his hand. “What’s the point if I’m just going to become a beast?” asked Edwyn desperately. Clarice couldn’t have looked more serious.

“If you give in to fear then you’re no better than a beast. As a beast gives in violence and bloodlust, a coward gives in to fear and selfishness. That sounds nothing like the legend you wish to become. If you want to truly live and escape what you call this hell, then take your weapon, and cut your way through it.”

  
Edwyn knew she was right. Giving in to fear was no different than giving in to the beastly scourge. He wasn’t about to be a coward. He grabbed his cleaver and tied the bell to his belt. He brushed off his cape and looked at Clarice.

  
“Let’s go.”

  
Edwyn and Clarice jogged through the streets of Yharnam following the carnage Rocco had left behind. They didn’t catch up to him until they reached the archway of the graveyard. He sat at the top of the steps wiping blood off his hammer with his cape. He looked down at the two as they climbed the steps.

  
“You’ve come to the right place,” he said as he swung his hammer onto his back and removed his sword. Clarice reached to the back of her belt and pulled out an intricately curved short sword. She had an elegant pistol in the other hand with a long barrel that must have extended the range. The three stood in front of the archway that had filled with a thick fog.

Rocco looked at Edwyn asking, “Did you happen to find a music box during your time in Yharnam?” Edwyn set down his cleaver and reached into his pack to reveal a tiny music box he had been given by a little girl.

  
“Good,” said Rocco. “When Gascoigne reveals his true self, use it.” Edwyn looked at Clarice and she gave him a nod. He opened the box to find a worn piece of paper in the lid. He could read nothing else on it except the faintly scribbled Viola and Gascoigne. His heart raced and his mouth was dry. However, he had made Clarice and Rocco wait long enough. He was tired of putting it off. Edwyn picked up his cleaver flipped the blade out and stepped through the fog.

  
As every time before, Gascoigne was waiting for him and quickly assaulted Edwyn shortly after he entered the graveyard. As Edwyn avoided a swing from Gascoigne’s axe he heard Rocco and Clarice enter through the fog. They were on top of Gascoigne before he had a chance to notice their presence. The two hunters’ experience shined as they masterfully chipped away at the blood drunk hunter. One would catch Gascoigne’s attention with a few quick strikes and then avoid his furious swings while the other took a turn getting in a few hits. Edwyn stood back in fear of the pain of death he had experienced so much before. He waited for a chance to strike, assuming he would just get in the way if he tried to assist. It wasn’t long before Gascoigne became enraged and extended his axe. Rocco and Clarice, covered in Gascoigne’s blood, stood across from their prey. Rocco slammed his silver blade into the block on his back and swung his hammer onto his shoulder. Clarice raised placed both hands on the hilt of her sword and tugged it apart in one swift motion. She now held two daggers in each hand. Gascoigne, unimpressed, made his move. Rocco and Clarice experienced more difficulty at this point. Gascoigne was quick, strong and his axe gave him a lot of reach, making it difficult to flank him. Edwyn grew restless watching his companions doing all the work. He became fed up with his fear and joined the fight. The second Gascoigne’s back was turned, Edwyn sprinted in and buried his cleaver deep into his back. Gascoigne screamed in pain and swung around with his axe in response. Edwyn ducked and rolled underneath the extended axe and rolled away just as Gascoigne thrust his axe toward him, narrowly missing. Rocco then slammed his hammer on Gascoigne, smashing him flat into the ground. Clarice and Edwyn ran in from the sides and hacked at Gascoigne as he rose from the ground. Edwyn noticed that their foe had left his axe on the ground and knew exactly what that meant. He rolled a short distance away, but Clarice failed to notice the axe on the ground. She stabbed her daggers into Gascoigne’s chest as he gripped at his head. Even if she had realized her error at this point, it was too late. The beast within Gascoigne burst out and sent Clarice flying through a tombstone. As she lied on the ground, no doubt with countless broken bones, she looked up to see Gascoigne wasn’t quite done with her. She was too weak to roll out of the way as Gascoigne leapt into the air and landed on her. Her cry enraged Edwyn. As he was overwhelmed by his emotions, Rocco was channeling his own.

  
Rocco was too far away to reach Clarice in time. As Gascoigne had leapt into the air the hammer wielding hunter swung his weapon with all his might and released the block from his sword. The block flew with great force and intercepted Gascoigne. Right when he landed on Clarice and her cry rang out the block smashed into Gascoigne’s side and sent him crashing into a tree a few feet away. Rocco sprinted at the beast with his own cry of frustration. Edwyn was running in the same direction but to Clarice. He knelt down beside her as Rocco ran by without a glance. The view of the fight was blocked by the tombstones, but it raged on regardless. Clarice was a bloody mess. Her body was broken and blood seemed to pour from a dozen different places. Edwyn had no idea what to say. He had died many times but had never seen it happen to someone else—at least, not to a friend. Clarice abruptly grabbed his arm and drew him close.

“Remember a hunter is never alone,” she said softly. Her grip loosened and her hand fell to the ground. Unfortunately for Edwyn, he had no time to mourn.

  
“Edwyn,” screamed Rocco in a strained voice. “Now! Use the box!”

  
Edwyn reached into his pack and pulled out the music box. He gave one final look at Clarice and leapt over the tombstones—sprinting to Rocco’s aid. The hunt wasn’t over yet. Rocco was delivering blow after blow—wielding the block in one hand and his sword in the other while avoiding Gascoigne’s swings. By the time Edwyn reached them Gascoigne overcame Rocco with his inhuman speed and strength. He slammed Rocco into the ground and grabbed him by the throat. Edwyn slid in to hack away with his cleaver, but Gascoigne swatted him away with his free hand. The beast lifted Rocco into the air and looked him in the face as if deciding his fate. Rocco spat his final words in Gascoigne’s face.

“Foul beast.”

  
Rocco was flung into a nearby wall and didn’t make any attempts at getting back up. The beast turned to Edwyn—his last remaining adversary. Edwyn flipped open the music box and a beautiful little tune drifted out. Under more relaxed circumstances, the song may have been rather relaxing. Gascoigne grabbed his head in terror and screamed in pain. He thrashed around wildly leaving his back wide open. Edwyn dropped the box and slid in behind the beast. As he wound up a swing the music ended and Gascoigne started to recover, but it was too late. Edwyn’s cleaver sank deep into Gascoigne’s flesh. He fell to his knees screaming in pain as Edwyn reached into the cut he had made. He gripped at the beast’s insides and in one smooth motion ripped out everything he could get a grip on. Blood sprayed everywhere from the tombstones to the naked tree branches overhead. Edwyn wiped it from his eyes to see if he had finished off Gascoigne, but the formidable foe still rose from the ground, though he looked weakened.  
Time seemed to stop as Edwyn stood there in graveyard drenched in the blood of the hunt. Rocco lay motionless against the wall he had struck. Clarice had probably passed by now. It was all for nothing. Gascoigne still stood. Edwyn felt stunned by a numbness in his mind he had never felt before. He finally realized the reality of the hunt. He had to stop creatures like Gascoigne. He saw why Clarice and Rocco and all the other hunters partook in this horrid business. At the center of any outlying personal reason, there is a need to destroy these abominations. Beasts were never meant to exist, and they had to be slain so that the night of the hunt could end. Gascoigne was now dragging his claws across the ground to deliver a final uppercut to Edwyn. Time seemed to have slowed to a near halt. Edwyn saw the sparks from the steel-like claws sparking as they ripped through the stone. Drops of blood slowly dripped from his hood. That’s when reflex took over. Edwyn raised his pistol as the beast’s hand swung up toward him. Edwyn pulled the trigger and fired from the hip. He let loose a bullet that dug itself deep in Gascoigne’s neck. Gascoigne stopped in his tracks and fell to his knees. Edwyn slid up to Gascoigne’s beastly face and buried his hand deep into his foe’s chest. Without looking his adversary in the eye, Edwyn ripped out the beast’s chest. This time Gascoigne stand back up. He laid in a growing pool of his own defiled blood and finally released his last breath. Edwyn stood silently for a moment to gain his bearings. He possessed a new feeling of confidence that he could continue the hunt. He could find the Paleblood. He could ascend the hunt and rid the world of this curse and save his family and friends. Rocco and Clarice’s corpses had disappeared, probably because they went back to their own hunts. They couldn’t die either. They were burdened with the same hell that Edwyn was forced to live. He would probably never see them again, but he would always remember their aid.

                                                                                                                                 ******

Night had fallen over Yharnam. The setting sun no longer blanketed the tops of the houses with its comforting light. It had been replaced by the bright moon that lit the city in its dull white glow. The Central Yharnam lamp sat in its same place—remaining one of the few safe places to be found in the horror that had engulfed the city. A bundle of messengers sat in a bubbling grey mist on the pavement as they eagerly awaited the gift the man above them would soon impart. The masked figure wore a grey trench coat with bulbs of incense dangling from various folds and pockets. A pistol dangled from his belt and a block sat on his back. His sword sat on the ground as he scribbled on a scrap of paper from his notebook. He knelt down as he finished the note and handed it to the messengers. As the hunter collected his things a blue glow emanated from a bell strapped to his side. He slammed his sword into the block on his back as the glow engulfed him and whisked him away. The messengers held the note in their little hands and read it.

  
“A hunter is never alone.”

  
The pale beings rolled up the paper and sank into the mist. They would travel to other dreams, nightmares and hells through this mist. They would rise from the ground where they felt most needed and present their message to hunters passerby—telling them that the bell on their side has more worth than they could possibly know.


End file.
